Comfort
by Personification of Fluff
Summary: Because sometimes everyone needs a hug. MirSan One shot.


**Title:** Comfort

**Rating:** G

**Summary: **Because sometimes we all need a hug.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters in this story. The words, however, are my own. Maybe next year I'll win Inuyasha on E-Bay. But I won't hold my breath.

**AN:** I was in a melancholy mood last night. It inspired me to get it out in this story. I'm putting it up on pretty much unedited (minus spelling errors, hopefully!) mainly because I think the run-on sentences and ambiguous sentences (if there are any, because I generally know what I mean, and so I have trouble figuring out if I've said what I meant to say) because I think they add to the emotion and setting of the story. I hope you enjoy.

**Dedication:** For my Dad, because when I spoke to him on the phone, I almost started crying. I'm such a Daddy's girl…

* * *

He was thinking that Sango had been unusually quiet all day. He watched her intently, wondering what thoughts were passing through that mind she normally kept so guarded, hidden behind a smile-less face and an almost grading level of determination. He was daydreaming that she would maybe open up and tell him. He stared at her, trying to see past that beautiful, enchanting mask, wondering where the edges were. And she, noticing his longing stares, switched masks flawless to slap him when his stares became too noticeable.

But for the first time, Miroku had gone all day staring at her and not at her ass.

She was quiet through dinner, picking at her food. Most of the fish she snuck to Kirara, who had been equally as quiet all day. Miroku didn't show any sign that he noticed that when she hand dipped to ground and Sango stared off into the fire, there would be a slice of meat between her fingers, which Kirara would grab quickly and swallow nearly whole. He pretended not to notice when she stopped pretending she was eating. She timed her exit perfectly, waiting until Inuyasha and Kagome began squabbling. She muttered a quick, faint, 'I'm going to the washroom' and left faster than her solitude would have suggested possible.

Miroku gave her five minutes before he followed.

* * *

Nobody knew.

Nobody knew and it was slowly killing Sango inside.

She hid her pain well. She always had. Warriors didn't show pain, her father had said. Warriors live off of pain. Sango had never understood that, but she tried her best anyway. But on the inside, she was screaming, begging and crying for the others to stop talking and bickering and either leave her alone or to comfort her. Kagome had been complaining that she needed to return to her time to study for her exams, adding on that her family would worry if she didn't return home soon. Each time Kagome said 'family' Sango felt a strange, painful ripple run through her torso, threatening her mask to shatter and for the tears to start.

After excusing herself from their camp sight, Sango disappeared into the woods to find someplace quiet and far away from camp. Finding an opening in the tree line where she could peer up and see the stars, Sango settled down on the ground, leaned her back against the weathered bark of the tree behind her, folded her arms over her bent knees, and sobbed into the familiar, worn fabric of her yukata.

The tears came easily. She wasn't a graceful crier. Sango's tears slowly soaked the fabric of sleeves, and her shoulder shook with each controlled sob. The important thing was to be quiet. Shippo and Inuyasha had sensitive hearing and she didn't want to draw their attention. Reaching up, Sango pulled her white ribbon from her hair, shaking her head to let her hair fall around her shoulders. Her dark hair dimmed the starlight as it hid her face. Sango found solace in the idea that the thin layer of dark hair somehow gave her more privacy, as if they could muffle the sounds escaping from her shaking lips.

A few minutes later, her sobs had stopped—for now. Sango worried they would return. She pushed her hair back into place, leaving it unbound. Her tears had slowed, but not stopped. Her head hurt from crying and from thinking. She was tired of thinking. But left alone in the woods, there was nothing else to do but think. And each thought threatened to set off her tears again.

"You came out further than you normally would have, Sango." She jumped when she heard Miroku's voice. She knew that there was a chance that he would follow her. Either he had been staring because he knew that something was bothering her and he'd choose to respect her privacy, or his concern would force him to follow. She wasn't sure yet if she was horrified or glad that he had. Sango didn't look up and he slowly came closer, standing a few trees away. "Would you prefer privacy?"

Damn him, why did he have to ask that question?

Her voice sounded miserable. "I don't know." Her answer was honest, but she heard the dry leaves crack under her footsteps, she knew that she wanted him to stay. Sango's head shot up and she opened her mouth to protest—but closed when she saw that he'd drawn closer and was leaning his staff against the tree so he could sit down next to her.

In the dim light of the night he could see the places where the tears had run over her cheeks, shining pale silver. Miroku sat down next to her and gently took her cheek in one of his hands, drying the tear stains. Sango blinked, and he wondered if she was cherishing it or fighting back more tears. He let his hands dance over her face: her pert red nose, cold to the touch, her burning cheeks wet with tears. With a heavy sigh, he let his hand fall back to rest on his thigh.

"Would you like to talk about it?" He watched as she bit her lip. It was a second too late. He had seen it starting to quiver.

She pulled away from him—not just from his wandering hands, but emotionally. Her voice was barely audible, thought the night was quiet. "Today's my birthday."

Sango didn't need to explain anything else. She heard Miroku's breathing change. Sango buried her face in her arms once more when the tears tried to resurface, lifting up from her stomach like nauseating hiccups.

"Had you told us, we could have… done something special."  
"I don't want anything special." There was a slight pause, and then the tears started flowing. Sango turned to Miroku, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Miroku's hand immediately went to her waist to steady her, wrapping tighter when she cried against him, anxious hiccups mingling with her sobs. "I just… I just don't want to be… I miss them so much, Houshi-sama! It's not fair! I've never missed them this much, and it's all the fault of my stupid birthday and it's just not fair that I should be happy and they should be here with me and they're not!"

He felt her hot tears land on his neck as they dripped off her cheeks. Each one felt like a hot coal as it landed. Miroku slowly lifted a hand to brush her long hair, and Sango cried harder for a moment, pressing herself further against him. Miroku's body was soft and warm and so much bigger than Kirara was. This was the kind of comfort Sango needed. She latched on to him and refused to let go, holding to him as tightly as she could.

"I miss him so much, Houshi-sama."

"Who?" he asked, thinking of Kohaku.

Her head lifted slightly as she shifted in his arms. He wondered if, in her grief, Sango knew how close they were. When she spoke her lips brushed his neck. He wondered if when she was over her grief she was going to hit him and accuse him of taking advantage of a moment of weakness. But when she spoke, a whisper of understanding wrapped around them. Sango would never do that to him, not like this, not now, and that moment.

"I miss my father, Houshi-sama."

He didn't let go of her until her tears had stopped, though not completely. They leaned against the tree together, staring up at the sky. Miroku could feel her breath making his bangs waver. Now and then she sniffled and lifted a hand to dry her face. It was only when Miroku was certain she was calm and too worn out to burst into renewed tears that he spoke again.

"You're not alone, you know, Sango."

Much to his surprise, she snuggled closer. Sango leaned a hand up to touch his cheek, guiding his gaze to her face. Her eyes were red from crying. He could tell that even in the dim light. She smelled like tears. He didn't know how that was possible, but he did. She smelled light and airy, like tears.

"I know, Houshi-sama, but it doesn't make the pain any easier to bear, sometimes. Having you or Kagome and Kirara can never replace the scent of my father's cooking first thing in the morning, or the sound of my father's laugh, or the scent of my house." Her hand didn't leave his cheek as she continued. "I'm sorry you saw this. I don't like crying."

"I don't like you crying, either."

"I hate my body," she sniffled, moving closer to him. "I hate it. I hate that it keeps telling me I'm not done, even though I don't think I have any more tears in me…"

Miroku wasn't really sure what happened next. Only that Sango was crying again, and kissing him. Her damp cheeks made his cold and her kiss was off-center and wet and salty from the tears that had moistened her lips, and through it all she was crying—it was the worst kiss that Miroku had ever experienced in his life. But it was with _Sango_, and when she stopped and allowed him to continue to hold her in his arms, he knew that as graceless and wet as it had been, he'd always treasure it.

They held each other until they fell asleep. Sango had long ago closed her eyes. The tears had made them almost painful to keep open. Before they tumbled off, Miroku's muttered, "Why me, Sango? Why seek comfort from me? Just because I happened upon you?"

She shook her head. Her answer was muffled. "Because I knew you'd understand.

* * *

Fin


End file.
